Cinderella
by Bluebird.tm
Summary: Darker reworking of the classic fairytale. There's a madwoman in the attic, two quarrelling sisters, a dull prince and a fat marmalade cat. So many literary cliches it's almost sickening. Please review!


The invitation caused Madame Tremaine much concern; she fingered the soft vellum and regarded the elegant script through thick round spectacles that perched perilously on the end of a long pointed nose. There were four invitations; for misses Arabella, Armenia and Cendrillon Tremaine, and the last for herself as chaperone to the girls. A haughty footman in silver trimmed livery had rung the bell importantly early that morning, delivering the thick white envelopes with their ostentatious wax seals stamped with the royal crest and informed her that all must attend. She should have been happy; this was exactly what she had been waiting for, a chance for her daughters to move amongst the highest circles in society, and perhaps, with a bit of luck, to catch the eye of the crown prince himself. Instead she frowned unhappily at the third invitation, chewing unconsciously on her thin lower lip. A crash from the lower landing roused her and she sighed as the familiar sounds of her daughters arguing drifted down the stairs. Climbing wearily, the polished banister firmly gripped by long bony fingers, she rose to resolve the most recent squabble of Arabella and Armenia Tremaine. As she opened the door to their opulent apartments a flash of red shot between her legs and streaked down the stairs.

The marmalade cat paused irritably in the kitchen before swaggering out into the yard, stretching torpidly in a dusty patch of sunlight and surveying his kingdom with satisfaction. Since his master had died the tom considered himself lord of the manor, a role into which he gladly stepped. As he inspected the yard lazily a sparrow landed foolishly close, hopping nervously from foot to foot and pecking at invisible crumbs; he stretched out one claw-tipped paw languorously, but before he could snatch the fluttering creature a mournful melody floated down from a high window and the bird rose in a flurry of feathers. Glaring upwards the cat watched it settle on an attic windowsill and soon its own fluid voice weaved harmoniously with the first. A pale face loomed briefly from the window and vanished back into the gloom as the songbird flitted away.

Inside, her daughters' quarrels dissolved, Madame Tremaine paused, one hand on an intricate silver door handle, to listen to the soaring notes that echoed down the creaking stairs to the attic. Leaving the girls to their excited shrieks she climbed laboriously up the long spiral and paused indecisively before the peeling wooden door at the summit of the house.

At her imperious knock the fluting voice faltered and died, leaving a deep, tense silence. The door rasped open slowly and the mistress of the house folded herself carefully through the gap and blinked at the darkness with which she was confronted. Gradually the room resolved itself into dim outlines, lit weakly by slim shafts of light that forced their way through chinks in the heavy black curtains.

Long, slanting walls shivered with cobwebs, and a thick layer of dust blurred the objects it covered, lending an intangible air to the strange collection of antique tables and lamps, as though the room was made of smoke; filthy shelves were crammed with crumbling, yellow-paged books and trinkets collected over centuries; boxes and trunks spilled ancient maps and outdated finery over the wooden boards like a patchwork rug. Surrounded by this jumble a vast four-poster bed dominated the room, deep red velvet drapes hung limply with ruined splendour from mahogany posts, which were carved with strange patterns and beasts. Lying listlessly on the spoiled silk sheets a slight figure posed dramatically, and as Madame Tremaine picked her way carefully towards the bed, lifting her skirts to avoid moulding and rotting food remains, the girl watched her progress reflected sombrely in a tarnished gild-framed mirror laced with cracks, its cover torn partially away.

The older woman pursed her lips, gazing sternly down at her late husbands daughter, unnerved and affronted by the amused half-smile that seemed to play subtly at the corner of insultingly red lips, and danced almost imperceptibly in huge dark eyes. Matted black hair tumbled haphazardly around a pale, narrow heart of a face that was almost luminous in the shadowy lair, falling unkempt about her waist. An old white lace dress drooped from slender shoulders and an oversized string of pearls looped about her long neck; the dilapidated finery did not hide her fragility, or the translucent skin through which fine blue webs glowed in a pulsing network of life. The pair examined one another silently for a long while and Madame Tremaine could not help a thrill of fear, feeling herself unwillingly entangled in the girl's unblinkingly reptilian gaze. When the silence became so thick that speech seemed impossible Cendrillon opened her mouth and issued forth a long liquid sigh.

'There is to be a ball?'

Though this vague whisper had a questioning inflection it was a statement rather than a query, and the woman shivered in spite of the close heat that saturated the room. How could she know…?

'You cannot possibly go Cendrillon. The excitement would be too much for you, and in your current state of health I cannot allow it.' She responded sharply, careful to keep the uncertainty out of her voice. As the girl's eyes narrowed Madame Tremaine continued quickly, 'I made a promise to your father, that I would keep you safe.'

Cendrillon's face crumpled suddenly, her doll-like features collapsing as though they were made of paper, and her jet eyes stared blindly through space. The older woman's lip twitched very slightly before she spun on her heel and fled the disturbing bedchamber. She had just reached the pristine safety of the upper landing when the screaming began.

The ginger cat was still stretched out in his luxurious patch of warmth when a hefty tome fell, trailing pages, from the sky and landed heavily on his twitching tail. With an angry screech he leapt for shelter as yet more missiles flew from the dingy window in the roof; an ancient glass bottle smashed in the dirt, flinging vicious shards across the yard, releasing a heady cloud of perfume; a stained silver candelabra down which rivulets of wax were fixed crashed through the stable roof.

The strange museum which Cendrillon inhabited bore the brunt of her fit; cupboards long undisturbed now hung open and gaping, their contents flung furiously from the protection of their wooded walls; priceless antiques littered the filthy floor; jewellery lay broken and sad amongst torn remnants of once-stylish dresses. She whirled inexorable about her tiny world, wreaking such destruction with glee, until at last she came to rest before the great gilded mirror. A thick shaft of sunlight streamed through the newly smashed window and struck the many facets of fractured silver and her nocturnal eyes were momentarily blinded by the sudden brightness that refracted into the dark, rotting corners of the chamber. Behind the searing light a shadowy figure lurked, cringing in the recesses of the mirror, and as the girl's sight cleared she saw the reflected image; burning onyx eyes filled with black fire, a halo of thorny dark hair, ghostly skin smeared with dust and dirt and the ghastly white shroud of lace. She saw, echoed many times over in the tarnished mirror, the exquisite madness of her mother; the mother she had replaced in every way after her death, before the arrival of the new Madame Tremaine.

'The shame of having such an affliction in the family', her mother whispered from the mirror, 'they won't ever let us out.'

Sinking to the floor, a sudden fatigue weighing on delicate limbs now that her fury was spent, the girl placed her palm to that of her mirror-bound forebear and fell into a deep slumber, graceful tears clearing tracks in her dirt smudged cheeks. Glimmering dust motes danced in the affable shaft of light that spilled mercury across the surface of the mirror; Cendrillon's mother slept fitfully and her eyes flickered behind translucent lids as she dreamed of escaping the backwards world in which she dwelled.

Madame Tremaine strode sternly into Arabella and Armenia's chambers with an army of maids in tow, each laden down with silks and furs, feathers, beads, sashes and elaborate slippers. The pair paraded before her in an array of garments; tossing their pretty ringlets with nervous excitement until eventually their mother was satisfied. The twins were alike in countenance; blonde curls framed soft features; twinkling blue eyes and dimpled cheeks; they were like two ripe fruits, emanating the naïve self-assurance of the untouched. The older woman smiled, confident that her pretty offspring would be a success at court.

Sending them down to wait in the coach, she rose gravely to Cendrillon's kingdom. An ominous silence permeated the old door, Madame Tremaine quietly took an ornate silver key and the lock clicked resolutely; her daughters were untouched; but the girl in the attic was untouchable, and what woman could compete with that? Then she hurried after her daughters, and the jovial three were pulled into the night by six proud white horses. Two pairs of eyes watched them go; the slit green of the cat and stormy black of the girl who glowered from her lonely window.

Returning to the mirror, Cendrillon turned to consider her derisive parent, forcing down the rage that bubbled in her diaphanous lungs.

'Why must I stay here?'

'You cannot leave us,' her mother laughed in response, 'you are ours and always will be.'

The wrath that resided in Cendrillon's chest flared painfully and her scorching gaze matched her mother's; sparks flew dangerously between the identical pair, and their two reversed worlds threatened to break through the flimsy glass and invade one another.

'I couldn't escape, and neither will you!' hissed the malign reflection.

But Cendrillon's eyes blazed with unearthly fire, and she flung herself forward, propelling herself towards the shivering pool of glass. Her mother screamed, throwing out her arms to stop Cendrillon, but the girl's slender fists smashed through the rippling glass and her origin shattered into a thousand shrieking slivers of silver that fell like rain on the indifferent floor.

Blood dripped in hot red streams from her fingers and feet, spattering the floor with livid spots of liquid fury; she stared down, appalled at the vital stains, surprised that she herself lived whilst her reflection did not; laughter foamed up from her throat and the room was filled with musical eddies of mirth. Clutching her skirts Cendrillon approached the locked door curiously, and as her sanguinary fingers touched the metal the door splintered around her and she sprang free of her cage.

As she descended the sweeping stairs with dreamy grace, she shed her mother like a skin; tangled hair became smooth and supple, a cascade of glistening darkness; snowy skin became slowly visible as the dirt that covered it melted away from her flesh; her eyes burned with feverish excitement. The decrepit wedding dress dragged along the ground and, as she walked, corruption slid from the frayed lace, leaving behind a trail of slithering malice in which strange images twisted violently. When she reached the door and stepped out into the welcoming night the dress dissolved entirely and she was sheathed instead in a gown of moonlight, which glowed softly beside her luminous skin. She continued to drift, as in a trance, towards the distant twinkle of the palace; oblivious to the enchanted transformations of the moon; pearls of light gleamed in her lustrous hair; obsidian jewels tumbled from her ivory throat and glittered darkly on dexterous fingers; and finally, as she stepped from dark forest edge and ascended to the palace, the fierce barbs of mirror embedded in her delicate toes melted, encasing her feet in crystal.

In the cavernous ballroom a thousand candles hung in the sweaty air illuminating decorated dancers below with lavishly flickering gold; and in the windows duplicate dancers spun under another host of candles. Hundreds of feet clicked across marble floors, liveried servants weaved through the room bearing great platters of sweets, pastries and candied fruits, and everywhere; jewels sparkled; feathers waved; fans fluttered. The walls were great lattices up which exotic flowers curled to the ceiling, their fleshy blooms exuding thick, overpowering aromas that rolled visibly across the polished floors. Grand ladies swooped with their daughters about the room, like so many birds of paradise, and their squawking laughter permeated the stagnant air.

Into this carnival chaos the surging crowd thrust Cendrillon, and she clung desperately to the ebony banister as if it could prevent her from drowning in the colourful river of bodies; wide eyed terror amidst a heaving sea of flesh, she plunged from twilight solitude into bewildering vibrancy. Far away her stepsisters pranced across shining floors, their arms about the necks of debonair young men.

At the far end of the extravagant hall the King and his son surveyed the wild scene with satisfaction. The King smiled gleefully at the hordes of pretty debutantes who waited eagerly on the Prince's every whim, whilst the younger man's eyes raked the swelling throng in search of the perfect partner. His eyes scoured the dancers, and then chanced upon the staircase, where, amongst the rainbow multitude, he saw a bright fleck of snow; there she stood, like a swan lost among peacocks.

Firm hands grasped her firmly and Cendrillon felt herself pulled to safety; lifting her eyes to meet those of her rescuer she was confronted by disconcerting blue. The Prince steered her charmingly around the floor, waltzing elegantly, unable to keep his eyes off her. Out of the corner of her eyes Cendrillon saw the distantly stunned faces of her stepfamily, but a chasm had opened in her mind and into it fell the pieces of her old life; she swirled smoothly from one future to another.

The Prince would dance with no other.

Late into the night the smitten royal led her out of the humid, lascivious jungle and into the cool stillness of the palace gardens, which stretched for miles of neat lawns and hedges, immaculate flowers curled in immense shapes; all dusted with silver moonbeams. They sat beside a shallow pool, and, accompanied by the gentle chime of a fountain, the Prince asked Cendrillon to be his bride.

At that moment a bell pealed from within the castle, announcing the strokes of midnight, and the serene moon seemed to grow within the girl's eyes and her inky pupils expanded, filling her gaze entirely; an abrupt breeze loosed her smoothly coiled hair and rustled through the roses that grew about the pool; Selene tugged at the girl's borrowed jewels, claiming them back for her own; visceral energy charged through her body and Cendrillon turned from her Prince and fled the flat, pristine grounds, followed by his astonished cries and the lusty scent of red roses, which carried on unnatural winds.

When she came to the lake she turned her painted eyes to the moon and stepped thankfully into its tranquil shadows; meanwhile the musicians played on and the dancers spun relentlessly around the exuberant palace.

Floating gently on the star painted surface of the lake, her black eyes were no longer void, but filled with flashing constellations as she gazed unseeingly into the swirling heavens. Far away on the shore, a pair of delicate glass slippers lay abandoned on the dewy grass.

**A/N Please please please review, this is my first story on here and I'd love to know what you think.**

**DISCLAIMER: This content doesn't belong to me it's common property really but I'll attribute The Brothers Grimm/Charles Perrault etc.**


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